


These Crazy Kids From Vault 101

by PearOh



Series: Fallout Fics [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Bisexual Character, Bullying, Child Abuse, Denial of Feelings, Developing Relationship, Dubcon Kissing, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Growing Up, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mild Language, Minor Violence, Multiple temporary relationships, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, Personal Growth, Pining, Slow Burn, Story spans across several years, They're both assholes, Underage Drinking, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-01-24 04:01:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21331945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PearOh/pseuds/PearOh
Summary: Butch and Lorna have hated each other ever since they first met as children, but as they grow older, their petty squabbles slowly turns into something else. Something that neither of them is ready for, nor do they really want it.
Relationships: Amata Almodovar/Female Lone Wanderer (unrequited), Butch DeLoria/Female Lone Wanderer
Series: Fallout Fics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1537783
Comments: 46
Kudos: 64





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I started playing Fallout 3, and of course, I felt the need to start writing a fic about it.
> 
> This is going to be more a series of one-shots depicting the growing relationship between Lone and Butch than something with an actual plot, but I hope you enjoy it :)

> _ Oh yes, I'm the great pretender _ __   
_ Pretending that I'm doing well _ _   
_ _ My need is such; I pretend too much _ _   
_ __ I'm lonely but no one can tell.
> 
> —  The Great Pretender (The Platters)

**September 2263**

The moment he saw her for the first time, Butch immediately hated her. He couldn’t really tell why — she hadn’t done anything yet — but something twisted in his stomach when her dad dropped her off for their first day of school. He recognized Dr Waterfield’s white coat and his kind eyes from the day he’d come to his family’s apartment with the Overseer a few months ago. They had talked to his mom for a little while before leaving. When Butch had come out of his room to see what was going on, she had been crying. He had never seen his mom cry before — or any other adult, really — and it had distraught him. When daddy came home, maybe he could make her feel better. She had always been in a better mood when he was home. But daddy hadn’t come home that day. Or the next day. And mom had spent the next week in a groggy state, alternating between drinking too much and suddenly remembering about his existence long enough to make him a jelly sandwich. It had been during one of those moments of weakness, as she laid half asleep on the couch, that she had told Butch what had happened. His dad would never come home. There had been a radroach infestation in the incinerator room where he had been working. The pests had attacked him and he had died before he could reach the Vault’s clinic.

Maybe that was it. Maybe Butch blamed the doctor for not saving his dad on time. Or maybe he just disliked her because  _ she _ had a dad and he didn’t and it wasn’t fair. It didn't really matter to him, in the end. He hated her. Period.

He watched the two of them as they hugged tightly. They both seemed reluctant to let go of each other. And the other kids weren't doing any better. Some of them were even crying!  _ Stupid babies! _ Butch thought. _ All of them! _

His mother had dropped him off a few minutes ago and left without so much as a goodbye. He had quickly busied himself with a Nuka-Cola truck he’d found in the toy corner and hadn't really cared about his mother's absence until now. Why had she been in so much of a hurry to leave if it was perfectly normal for the other parents to linger a little while longer?

After a few minutes, the girl finally let go of her father. “Have a nice day, honey. I love you.”

Butch frowned. That wasn't something his mother had ever said to him. Nor had his father as far as he remembered.

Then, the unthinkable happened. The girl approached  _ him_. He stared in disbelief as she trotted towards him, her ponytail bouncing behind her. 

“Hi, I'm Lorna,” she told him as she sat on the floor next to him.

Butch pretended not to see her.

That didn't seem to bother her. “What's your name?”

He remained tight-lipped, moving the truck around him, hoping his silence would deter her. But Lorna picked up a toy car from the toy box and moved toward him to play with him. He groaned. What was her problem? Couldn't she take a hint?

“Amata! Hey! Over here!”

Butch looked up to see her wave her tiny hand at another girl who had just walked through the front door with her father. She was beaming with joy, returning Lorna's smile enthusiastically as she hurried toward them. He wanted to wipe both of their smiles off their faces. But maybe Lorna would finally let him be now that she'd found someone else to bother.

No such luck, however.

“This is Amata,” she announced proudly. “She's my best friend in the whole world.”

“Hi,” the other girl said shyly.

“And hum, I'm sorry. I forgot your name.”

“Leave me alone!” Butch snapped, loud enough to draw attention to them.

Some of the parents were starting to give them side glances, whispering things to each other. Things about him, no doubt.

“Why are you so mean?” Lorna pouted. “My daddy said to be nice to you because you lost your daddy, but you're a jerk.”

That set him over the edge. She had no right to talk about his father. “Shut up!” he yelled at her as he pulled on her ponytail.

Lorna yelped and he laughed as tears started to form in her eyes. “Waa waa waa!” he mocked her. “Why don't you go run home to your mommy and daddy?”

Having made his point abundantly clear, Butch rose to his feet and made to walk away, turning his back on her. “I don't have a mommy,” she told him with a shaky voice as she followed after him. 

And then she pushed him down.

He landed on his knees, bracing himself with his hands to avoid falling on his face. Lorna loomed over him, sneering at him.

“Why don't  _ you _ go cry to your mommy?” she taunted him and he didn't think he could hate her more if he tried.

He wasn't going to cry. Boys didn't cry, his father had told him before he… before he… 

He wasn't going to cry, but she was!

“Children, that is enough!” the school teacher intervened.

Butch looked up. He was an old man — definitely older than his mom — with a large belly and kind eyes hidden behind a pair of very small round glasses.

Butch pointed his finger at Lorna, a look of feigned innocence written on his face. “She did it.”

“And I saw you start this fight,” the teacher pointed out calmly. He looked at them both and sighed, “I hate to start the school year on a bad note, so I won't send you both to the corner. But you two better behave from now on or I'll have a talk with your parents.”

Butch scoffed at the idea. The teacher could summon his mom all he wanted, Butch was convinced she would listen to him about as much as she cared about her son, which was not at all these days.

The teacher gave both children a pointed look. “Is that understood?”

Staring down at their feet, they both mumbled a quiet “Yes, mister.”

“Good.” The man gave them a kind smile. “Now go seat with the other children.”

They made a point of sitting on opposite sides of the room. Looking back, this was probably the only smart decision they would make that day. And perhaps during their entire childhood.

Their truce probably lasted a whopping amount of ten minutes.

The teacher clapped his hands together and quiet spread across the room. “Good morning class,” he said. “For those of you who don't know me, I am Mr Brotch.”

“Good morning Mr Brotch,” the whole class repeated enthusiastically after him. Except for Butch, he wasn't a bootlicker.

Mr Brotch proceeded to ask each of them to introduce themselves. That was how Butch learned that Amata was actually the Overseer's daughter, a fact that didn't fail to elicit a few gasps from the other children. All it told Butch was that she was another daddy's little girl and that he disliked her too — although not as much as Lorna. Not yet, at least.

She was the next one to stand up and introduce herself.

“My name's Lorna Waterfield. I'm five and when I grow up I want to be a doctor like my daddy.”

“Pfft, more like  _ Loser Cryingfield_,” Butch mocked her. 

The boy next to him, Wally, burst out laughing. Other kids followed suit, as kids were wont to do. Lorna's hands curled up into fists. She was going to attack someone. Probably Butch again. Not that he really cared. She was a girl and she was smaller than him. He could take her on easily.

But no. Instead, she turned around and ran out of the room, crying. Admittedly, he felt a little bad about her, but not enough to stop laughing.

Being sent to the corner did shut him up quickly, however.

He was already moping in his own self-pity when Lorna was escorted back to class by a young man.

“Sorry for the interruption, teach, but I think you misplaced one of your kids.”

“Thank you, Mr Palmer,” Brotch said. “And I apologize for the inconvenience.”

“It was no trouble.” Butch saw Lorna squeeze the man's hand. “Hey, it's gonna be alright,” he reassured her with a soft voice. “Look, that mean boy has been punished.”

Butch winced as Lorna's big brown eyes settled on him. He stuck his tongue out to her in defiance.

“Mr DeLoria,” the teacher intervened. “Turn your face back to the wall.”

He groaned but did as he was told. From the corner of his eyes, he could have sworn he saw Lorna stick her tongue right back at him.

“Have a nice day, everyone,” the other man declared as he left the room, waving at the children — or at least, that was what Butch imagined him doing since he couldn't really see him with his back turned to the rest of the class.

“Are you feeling better, Miss Waterfield?” the teacher asked.

“Yes, Mr Brotch,” she answered timidly.

“Good.”

_ Ugh! Teacher's pet! _


	2. Chapter 2

**December 2263**

They both sat on a different side of the room, glaring at each other while Mr. Brotch talked to their respective parents about their recent behavior. It had been a few months since that first awful day of school and their relationship had not improved. If anything, it had worsened considerably, so much so that it was surprising how long it had taken their teacher to summon their parents. He must have had the patience of a saint to put up with them for so long. Then again, it was his job.

Not a single week had passed without Lorna, Butch or both of them being sent to the corner for punishment. No matter how hard their teacher tried to explain to them the error of their ways, they always ended up on the floor, wrestling with each other.

“I don't understand,” Mrs. DeLoria chimed in. “What's going on?”

She spoke with a slow, raspy voice, sounding and looking very tired. Lorna wondered if she was maybe a little sick. The air conditioning system had been acting up lately and she'd overheard old Stanley complain about the amount of maintenance work he was required to perform in order to keep everything running.

“I suspect it has something to do with our paint-covered children, Ellen,” Lorna's dad answered instead of Mr. Brotch, throwing a stern glance toward both of their kids.

Lorna looked away, her eyes landing on her hands where the rainbow she had originally painted on her fingers had been smudged and turned into a dark brownish goo.

The children had been doing arts and crafts earlier that afternoon. The planned activity had involved painting holiday decorations with their fingers, something they had all been quite excited about. Unfortunately, Butch's idea of a fun time had been to ruin Lorna's carefully crafted rainbow garland with his fat, greasy fingers. She had retaliated by smacking him with her paint-covered palm, leaving a multicolored handprint right in the middle of his face. One thing leading to another, the entire class had started to throw paint at each other, much to Mr. Brotch's chagrin.

It had been kind of fun, Lorna had to admit. Especially the stunned look on Butch's dumb face when he'd realized what she'd done to him. Totally worth getting paint in her hair.

“Whatcha laughing at, twerp?” Butch snapped at her.

“Your stupid face!"

“Butchie!” his mom scolded him.

“Lorna!” her dad warned her at the same time.

Both children fell silent, pouting as Mr. Brotch started to explain the situation to their parents. Lorna stopped listening halfway through his excruciatingly long lecture. She didn't understand why she was being reprimanded too when Butch was the one who was mean to everyone around him. All she had done was giving him a taste of his own medicine.

Mrs. DeLoria fidgeted on her seat. “I don't understand what you want me to do about this, Mr. Brotch.”

“Discipline your child, for starter,” her father muttered.

“I don't see why my Butchie should be punished when your daughter clearly started all this.”

Lorna tensed up at the accusation. Butch had started this fight. He always started their fights — well,  _ almost _ always. Not only that, but he was mean to _everyone_, even Amata who had been nothing but sweet to all of their classmates since the beginning of the school year. So why did Lorna have to be punished too when she was just trying to defend herself? It wasn't fair.

“My daughter  _ started _ all this?” her father fumed. “Are we forgetting how she came running to the clinic, begging me to never send her back to school again? On her first day, no less!”

_ You tell 'em, dad! _

“Children tease each other all the time,” Mrs. DeLoria said as an explanation for her son's wrongdoings. “And I'm sure you know how boys are. Pulling a girl's hair is their way of saying 'I like you.'”

_ Eww! _

“Bullshit!”

Lorna's eyes widened. She'd never heard her dad swear before.

“I don't like her!” Butch expressed loudly, looking as disgusted by the idea as she felt about it.

“Even if that were true, that wouldn't excuse his behavior!” her dad added.

“Dr. Waterfield is right, Mrs. DeLoria,” Mr. Brotch intervened. “Butch needs to learn that actions have consequences and that bad behavior cannot go unpunished.”

Lorna stuck her tongue out to the bully.

“But so does Lorna, Doctor.”

_ What?! _ Her self-satisfied grin disappeared as fast as it had spread across her lips. Butch snorted derisively and stuck his own tongue back out to her.

“She may not have started  _ this _ particular fight, but she did actively sought to provoke Butch's anger a handful of times in the past few weeks.”

Lorna looked away sheepishly as her father sighed, turning his gaze on her yet again. “I'll talk to my daughter,” he said in a calmer tone. “But I suggest you do the same to your boy, Ellen. Before he gets out of control.”

If she didn't know any better, Lorna might have thought her father was threatening Mrs. DeLoria. The look on the woman's face seemed to suggest that she certainly believed it. But the little girl knew him better than that. His gruff voice made most words coming out of his mouth sound like thinly veiled threats, but she recognized his tone as one of mild resignation.

They all headed home soon afterward. The four of them walked together in awkward silence toward their respective living quarters and it suddenly occurred to Lorna how close their two families lived to each other, with only the two bathrooms separating them from one another. It bothered her a little to know that Butch slept only a few paces from her. But that was what living in an underground shelter entailed: everyone would always be in close proximity. 

Dad didn't let go of Lorna's hand until they reached the front door of their apartment. He activated the switch to open it and waited for it to close again behind them before speaking.

“Now that we're alone, I would like you to explain to me what happened.”

Lorna burst into tears. “Am I in trouble?”

He rushed to her side. “Of course not, sweetie. I just want to understand what happened between you and Butch,” he explained as he wrapped his arms around her.

She told him everything, from their disastrous first day of school to their latest scuffle. She even admitted to having antagonized him a few times on purpose, for no other reason than it was fun.

“I can't help it. It's just so easy to make him mad.”

Her father sighed deeply. “Please, don't do that, honey. I know you don't like him, but if you start picking fights, how are you any better than him?”

“I'm sorry.” She wiped her tears with the back of her hand and looked up at him. “Are you mad at me?”

“No, of course not. I'm just…” He pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “Listen, honey. You shouldn't apologize for standing up to bullies. Once you let them push you around, you'll never see the end of it. But please, don't go looking for trouble. There's enough violence in the world without adding to it,” he explained to her, his hand brushing her arm in a comforting touch. “Do you understand what I'm trying to say?”

She nodded hesitantly, sniffing back her tears. “I think so.”

A smile stretched across his lips. “Good.” He ruffled her hair with a chuckle. “Now let's get you cleaned up before dinner.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The infamous birthday party as experienced by Butch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning** for child abuse in the beginning.

**July 2268**

His mom was sitting on the couch, a bottle of vodka in her hands, her eyes staring blankly at a stain on the wall. More bottles were lying at her feet, all of them already empty. As usual, she didn’t acknowledge Butch’s existence until she’d drank them all. Her cold gaze then landed on him as he was loitering in the doorway.

“Get me another one of these from the cabinet.”

He did as he was told without arguing. The last time he had tried to defy her, she’d slapped him and locked him up in his bedroom for the entire day even though he’d made plans to meet up with Paul and Wally that afternoon. So he gave her the bottle she wanted. It felt heavy in his small hands and he wondered how his mother could muster the strength to lift it all day long. 

She unscrewed the cap with her shaky hands and brought the tip to her lips faster than you could say “Drink up!” Butch winced as the smell of alcohol hit his nostrils. If he wasn't so scared of her reaction, he would have emptied all these bottles down the drain a long time ago. It would be easy, he thought. After all, their apartment was right next to the communal bathrooms. He would only have to cross the corridor…

“What are you still doing here?” his mom hissed, looking in his general direction but not  _ at _ him. “What do you want?”

“I'm hungry and it's already three. When do we get to eat lunch?”

A shadow passed over her face. Guilt was shining in her eyes as she said in a mellow voice, “I'm sorry, Butchie, but we're out of ration coupons.”

“Already? But it's only Tuesday!”

“Don't sass me, boy!” she barked, only softening after she saw him take a step back. “Tell you what, it's that girl's birthday today. Go to the cafeteria. They probably have cake.”

Butch frowned. “What girl?”

“That friend of yours. What's her name? The doc's kid.”

“She's not my friend!”

He and Lorna had fought again last week. He'd laughed at her after a baseball had hit her square in the face during practice, making her nose bleed. She'd expressed her resentment towards his amusement by kicking him in the groin. To say that they weren't friends was an understatement.

“Go to her party or don't go. I don't care what you do.”

He was about to decide that he could go a day or two without eating when his stomach grumbled. Screw it! He'd go for the cake and only for the cake. No one said he had to bring the brat a present or be friendly to her.

He went to pick up Wally and Paul first. No way in hell would he suffer through this alone. It took some effort to convince the former, but he eventually accepted to accompany him after Butch promised it would give them an opportunity to make fun of Lorna.

Paul, as it turned out, had planned to attend the party regardless of Butch's decision. He was just too polite to decline an invitation, although Butch suspected he also had a crush on the girl.  _ Gross! _

They were the last to arrive and the only kids around who weren't Amata. It was kind of sad, but it just proved how much of a loser Lorna was.

“I can't believe you guys actually came,” she said, her nose scrunched up in disgust.

“Don't make a big deal out of it. My mom made me come to this stupid party.”

It was true, his mom hadn't really given him much of a choice. If he wanted to eat something today, he had to come.

“Just go sit in a booth and don't be a jerk. She'll be here soon.”

Oh, joy…

They all waited in the dark for the birthday girl to show up. And apparently, she wasn't in any hurry to celebrate as it took her a full ten minutes to walk through the door. Granted, it was supposed to be a  _ surprise _ party, but still, she had to know about it. Amata hadn't been the most discreet when she had handed over those invitations.

Butch passed the time by playing Automatron on his Pip-Boy. And judging by the way the Overseer himself kept checking the clock on his own device, he wasn't the only one to be bored out of his mind.  _ Ugh! _ All he wanted was some cake!

He let out a small sigh of relief when the door opened and Lorna finally walked in. The lights went on and people cheered as if her tenth birthday was a real big deal. There was a kind of reverence in the reception of your own Pip-Boy, sure, but the excitement would fade pretty quickly. 

Butch remembered his own birthday quite well. His mom had forgotten about it — as usual — until the Overseer had appeared on their doorstep to give him his Pip-Boy. With no one around to witness the event, the man had barely given him a few words before leaving. The next day, Butch had shown off his personal device to the other kids. And when asked why he hadn't organized a birthday party to celebrate, he'd replied that he hadn't wanted one because parties were for little kids and he was a big boy now. But truth be told, he almost envied Lorna. Her surprise party might have been pitiful, but at least her dad had made some efforts to throw her one.

She looked happy, collecting gifts from her guests and flipping through the comic book Amata had offered to her. It was a copy of  _ Grognak the Barbarian _ number 14, an issue Butch didn’t have in his collection. Where did Amata find that one? And what kind of girl read _Grognak the Barbarian_, anyway? It was a boys' book, with strong men and violent fight scenes. Girls usually preferred the  _ Mistress of Mystery _ series.

But none of that mattered. He was here for the cake, nothing more.

“Hey, happy birthday, nosebleed!” he said, cackling at his own jab as Lorna passed him by. “I didn't bring you a present if that's what you're wondering.”

She threw him a dirty glance, probably wondering why he'd even been invited. He'd wondered it too until he had realized that she didn't have any friends besides Amata. Her father likely invited every kid their age to compensate. The fact that only half of them had shown up just served as a reminder of how much of a loser she truly was.

Wally followed Butch's example. He was promised a chance to make fun of Lorna and he delivered, mocking her for how boring her party was and for the clunkiness of her Pip-Boy. Butch snickered, almost commenting on the fact that his friend hadn't even gotten his own device yet and that he could still end up with a model even older than the 3000A. But the Mack family had a lot of sway with the Overseer, and old Stanley, who calibrated all the Pip-Boys, was Wally's grandfather. He'd get whatever he wanted, as usual.

Paul, on the other hand, had the audacity of trying to be nice to her! He even went so far as to  _ apologize _ for the whole gang's behavior. Unbelievable! But also ripe for a good teasing.

Butch smirked. “What, is she your best friend now? Hey, Wally, I think Paul's in love,” he said, dragging on the last word in a mocking tone.

That set his friend straight and Paul quickly went on to pick on Lorna like the rest of them. She was about to retort something stupid — she always said stupid things — when Andy's metallic voice echoed through the room.

“Attention, everyone! It is time to cut the cake!”

_ Finally! _

Butch's excitement was soon shattered, however, when the robot raised his buzzsaw arm and turned the cake into a massive pile of goo. Of all the days this could have happened… 

His stomach grumbled in protest, reminding him that he hadn't eaten anything since breakfast. It wasn't fair! What did he do to deserve this?

But wait a minute! Lorna had gotten a sweetroll as a birthday present from Old Lady Palmer and the old coot certainly knew how to bake succulent treats.

He grabbed her by the arm, the one that was holding the pastry. “I'm hungry and that stupid robot destroyed the cake!” he barked at her. “Give me that sweetroll you got from Old Lady Palmer!”

She yanked her arm out of his grasp and briefly looked at him with confusion before her face set into a sneer. That wasn't a good sign.

“Sure thing, Butch.”

He should have seen it coming. Her voice was all sugar, much too sweet to be genuine. But her answer surprised him and he found himself paralyzed for a few seconds. Not long, but it was enough for Lorna to act. She brought the sweetroll closer to her face and let a long string of spit fall from her mouth. It landed right in the middle of the pastry.

“There you go,” she said smugly, handing him the disgusting thing while she wiped her mouth with the back of her free hand.

“Gah! I don't want your nerd-cooties!” He smacked her hand away. “You're going to be sorry you did that,” he threatened her. “We'll see how tough you are later when the grownups aren't around.”

“Whatever,” she said before taking a bite of her sweetroll. “I'm not scared of you, Butch.”

“You should be, punk.”

She rolled her eyes and turned her back on him to speak with Amata. Her indifference irritated him and he was going to make her pay. Later. After he'd finally gotten something into his stomach. Maybe he could coerce Paul into organizing a sleepover so he could eat dinner with the Hannons instead of his drunken mother.

In the meantime, they needed to find a name for their badass gang, preferably one that didn't have Wally's stupid name in it.


	4. Chapter 4

**October 2271**

“This is so not fair!”

A loud clang resonated through the room as Butch kicked the nearest metal box with his feet.

“What's unfair is that  _ I _ am stuck in here with you when it was all  _ your _ fault!” Lorna shot back.

As usual, they'd been trading insults in class, throwing nasty comments in each other's direction every time one of them opened their mouth. It had become a bit of a game as they each tried to outsmart the other and get the last word in. The problem, however, was that Mr. Brotch had recently retired and his replacement — his son, also Mr. Brotch — did not have the same patience. He'd pegged Butch as a troublemaker from day one, but Lorna had managed to slip through the cracks for a while due to the fact that she was one of the best students in their class (bested only by Amata), while he was a slacker. But her luck was bound to run out sooner or later and the new Mr. Brotch had finally decided to teach them both a lesson.

They'd been sent to the Vault's storage room where they'd been instructed to organize the shelves in a way that would make for easy access to essential supplies. The place was a dump and it looked like no one had bothered to even step foot in there since the War. Apart from the handful of old holiday ornaments that were used every year to decorate the Vault and had been stacked next to the door, everything was a mess. Needless to say, this was not how either of them had planned to spend their Saturday afternoon.

“You take left, I take right?” she offered with a sigh.

“No way, there're some gross stains on these boxes. You take left.”

She rolled her eyes. “It's probably just a broken Nuka Cola bottle or something.”

“Whatever, I ain't touching it.”

The first box she opened was indeed filled with broken bottles of soda. She closed it quickly, the stench almost too overwhelming for her senses. That box should have been stored in the food stores, not in general storage. Pulling a black marker out of her jumpsuit pocket, she wrote 'GARBAGE, STINKY, DO NOT OPEN' on the side of the box and placed it in the corner where Mr. Brotch had instructed them to stack everything they thought should be thrown into the incinerator.

Lorna might have actually enjoyed this little adventure into the unknown had anyone other than Butch been keeping her company. She'd always been curious to see what pre-War treasures the room was hiding. A few years ago, as she had been babysitting Lorna, Beatrice Armstrong had shown her her collection of eccentricities. She'd explained how she'd made so many trips to retrieve things from the storage room that the Overseer had eventually forbidden her access to the room.

The content of the next box was much more bearable, though still quite boring. Tools and bits of scrap metal had been hastily thrown into it like garbage into a bin. Regardless, the maintenance department might find some use for those, Lorna realized. Better store the box somewhere easily accessible.

She was carrying it closer to the entrance when a wild animal jumped in front of her, growling. Acting on sheer survival instinct, she dropped the box and punched the creature in the face.

Butch yelped, staggering back before removing his mask. 

“That serves you right, asshole!”

Her strike, likely softened by his mask, hadn't left any bruise on his face, but Butch grimaced as he slowly massaged his jaw.

“What's 'Halloween', anyway?” he asked, throwing the mask back into a box.

“Some kinda pre-War holiday, I think. Why?”

“There's this box labeled as Halloween supplies and it's full of other creepy stuff like this.”

“Lemme see!”

Pushing him aside, Lorna buried her hands into the very large box. She pushed around a few items and found a small fake skull at the bottom. She grabbed it and threw it in Butch's direction yelling “Catch!”

It struck him in the face first before falling into his hands. He turned it around between his fingers until the skull's face was staring at him.

“What kinda holiday is it anyway?”

“I think my dad told me about it once.” Her face scrunched up in concentration as she tried to remember the details of that conversation. “I think it was about honoring the dead. Or was it about celebrating the fall season? I can't remember.”

“These are two very different things, nosebleed. Which is it?”

“I don't know! And it's not like we'd be allowed to celebrate it anyway.”

“Why not?”

She shrugged. “My dad said the date was too close to Founder's Day so the Overseer banned it.”

“Ugh! I hate Founder's Day, it's so boring! I bet this wouldn't be as boring!”

He had a point. Founder's Day was the most boring holiday they celebrated in the Vault. It always lasted for _hours_. Long, excruciating hours. It was meant to celebrate the first overseer and the sealing of the Vault door that spared their ancestors from the horrors of the Great War. But in reality, the current overseer only seemed to use it to remind everyone of the power he held and that his word was law. He would start the celebrations with a lengthy — and boring — speech about how important the safety of the Vault should be to everyone. “We are born in the Vault. We live in the Vault. We die in the Vault. There is no life on the outside, only death. Blah blah blah. All hail the Overseer!” Even Beatrice's poem wasn't as boring, and she recited the same one every year.

“Hey, maybe we should replace Founder's Day with whatever this Halloween thing is!”

“Forget it, Butch. The Overseer is never going to allow it.”

He scoffed. “I ain't scared of him.”

“Then you're an idiot.”

She went back to her own corner, picking up a new box. This one was filled with dining room supplies. Useful if someone ever broke a plate or lost a spoon. She placed it next to the toolbox where it could easily be accessed if needed.

The next box was so heavy Lorna couldn't even lift it. Upon closer inspection, she realized that it was full of old pre-War books. She made a mental note to sneak back in here later to take a better look at them. Maybe she could find some forgotten gems. Or better yet, maybe one of these boxes contained a copy of _Grognak_'s first issue! How exciting that would be!

She gasped loudly upon opening another box.

“Whatcha find?”

“Fancy pre-War clothes,” she breathed.

She carefully treaded a finger along the fine fabric of the dress that had been delicately folded at the top of the pile.

“What, like the stuff we have to wear for weddings and dances?”

“Kinda.”

She pulled the dress out of the box and held it in front of her to appraise it. It looked so much prettier than any of the formal clothes she'd ever seen anyone wear in the Vault, though. It looked more like what movie stars wore in these old pre-War flicks. As a matter of fact…

“I think Vera Keyes had a dress just like this in  _ Love Sets Sails! _ ”

Butch snorted. “Nerd.”

Lorna ignored him. She didn't care what he thought of her. After so many years, his insults didn't phase her so much anymore.

Holding the dress in front of her body, she tried to see if it could fit her. It was a pretty dress, made out of a deep red silky fabric and cut with an off-shoulder neckline, with a thin golden ribbon separating the top half from the full skirt. It was simple, yet elegant. But it was a woman's dress and as such, it was too big for her. It might fit someday after her breasts had grown some more, but for now, she would have to wait. She reluctantly placed it back into the box. It wasn't like she would have had an opportunity to wear it anytime soon anyway.

“Wow, cool!”

While she was busy daydreaming, Butch had dived into the box next to hers and pulled out a black leather jacket. There was nothing special about it. It was a plain old leather jacket, but Butch's eyes were gleaming with jubilation, probably as much as hers had when she'd seen the dress.

He slipped into the piece of garment, trying it on. It fitted him about as well as the dress had fitted Lorna, which meant not at all. It hung loosely around his shoulders and the sleeves were way too long.

He passed a hand through his hair, trying to smooth down his soft curls. “I look like Brando.”

Lorna couldn't suppress a chuckle. And he had the nerves to call  _ her _ a nerd!

“You look like an idiot,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“You just don't understand 'cause you're not part of the gang.”

“What gang? You're just three idiots who think tinkering with the jukebox so that it only plays one song is badass.”

“You're just jealous 'cause we said it was no girls allowed.”

She grimaced. “Hardly.”

“Help me find more of these for the guys.”

She considered refusing. After all, they still weren't friends. But maybe she could get something out of this.

“What's in it for me?”

He glared at her. She crossed her arms defiantly. She would not budge until they'd come to an agreement.

“I'll give you my dessert after lunch for a week.”

“A month.”

She didn't really care about getting an extra slice of pie everyday, but she did like the idea of Butch giving up his favorite part of the meal to her.

He winced. “For a week  _ and _ we stop bothering you and your girlfriend during that time.”

“She's not my girlfriend,” Lorna replied with a blush.

“Whatever, do we have a deal?”

A truce? That sounded nice… and nigh impossible. That was Butch, after all. Lorna was willing to bet he'd resume tormenting her after one day. But she was also willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Sure.”

They sealed their deal with a handshake before diving into another set of boxes. They went through them quickly, not even bothering to label or organize them anymore. After a while, they finally found another jacket that matched the one Butch was wearing, as well as a wide variety of holiday decorations — ranging from the enigmatic Halloween to the glittering New Year's Eve banners — that they decided to hang on the shelves.

As surprising as it was, the two young teenagers were having fun together.

They'd put on funny hats and fake mustaches that they'd found in one of the Halloween boxes, and were attempting to do impressions of some of the other Vault residents. After years of having to interact with Amata's father, Lorna had become rather good at imitating the Overseer.

“I am the Overseer," she mocked with a sneer. “My authority is absolute and you will obey me.”

Butch was in the middle of an impression of Mr. Brotch — one that had her doubling over with laughter — when he was interrupted by the swishing sound of the door being opened. Mr. Brotch (the real one) walked up to them, a deep frown plastered on his face at the sight of the mess the two of them had made.

“While I'm glad you two are finally getting along,” their teacher said, “may I remind you that you're being punished. So quit messing around and go back to work if you don't want to be stuck here for the entire weekend.”

“Yes, Mr. Brotch.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Founder’s Day 2271**

Butch did not, in fact, give Lorna any dessert on the week that followed their detention for the simple reason that he never got any to begin with. As it turned out, his mother had gotten a similar idea and had exchanged all of their dessert ration coupons for more alcohol. Again.

But he hadn't heard a peep from Lorna since that afternoon. Probably because he'd kept his other part of the bargain and hadn't bothered her or her friend at all for the past few days even though the thought felt like an itch waiting to be scratched. Still, the situation made him uneasy. He hated owing that girl _ anything _ and if he knew one thing about her, it was that she would not let it go so easily.

So he'd come up with a plan. He would sneak out of the atrium during the Overseer's Founder's Day speech and grab a few sugary treats from the cafeteria's supplies while everyone was busy. And since the DeLorias were always sitting at the back of the assembly, leaving the room unnoticed should be easy as pie, so to speak.

What hadn't occurred to him, however, was that the food stores would be locked. Alright, no big deal. Wally's brother had thought him once how to pick locks so that he could 'borrow' a bottle from his mother's liquor cabinet for him while she was sleeping. Picking the door's override lock shouldn't be any different.

Except it was. And he'd already broken half a dozen bobby pins trying to open that damn door, which meant he only had four of them left. Four bobby pins. Four trials. Four more potential failures.

“You know, you'd have better luck trying to hack into the mainframe,” Lorna's voice chimed in behind him, making him drop his remaining pins as he jumped in surprise.

He scowled at her. “What are you doing here, twerp?”

“I should be asking you that question. After all, you're the one trying to break into the food stores.”

“It's none of your business,” he hissed.

“And here I was going to offer you some help.”

“I don't need your help.”

She leaned back against the wall, facing him with a look of amused curiosity. “Suit yourself.”

Somehow, having her here, observing him like he was some kind of lab experiment, made him even more uncomfortable. His hands were shaking, his palms were sweaty, and he broke another two pins before giving up on his quest entirely. Irritated, he rose to his feet and kicked the heavy metal door.

Lorna was still watching him, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. “You sure you still don't want any help?”

“No! Not from you!”

Butch stormed off, returning to the atrium before his mother could notice his absence. Not that she would have, having fallen asleep on her seat. But he couldn't stand Lorna's judging gaze any longer, or worse, her constant offers to help him. He knew she wasn't doing it out of the goodness of her heart. She either wanted to show off how much better than him she was at everything, or she wanted to add this to the growing pile of favors he owed her. Either way, he wasn't going to give her the satisfaction. He would find another way to get those damn cakes.

Except it seemed that Lorna couldn't take the hint. She showed up two minutes later and slumped down on the chair next to him. Without a word, she dropped a small paperboard box into his hands.

“What the hell is this?”

“Fancy Lads Snack Cakes. Can't you read?” she quipped.

He stared at her, a look of utter confusion written all over his face. When he didn't answer, she added, “I figured you were hungry. Isn't that why you were trying to break into the food stores?”

“Not so loud! Do you want to get me in trouble?”

Knowing her, the answer was obviously 'yes'. He shot a panicked look in every direction. Everyone was too busy listening to the Overseer or napping to pay attention to a couple of kids who were seemingly starting to get restless. And even though Lorna's father was throwing an occasional concerned glance in their direction, he was sitting too far away to hear their conversation.

“Where'd you get this anyway?”

“The food stores,” she replied as if it were obvious. “I hacked into the cafeteria's computer to unlock the door.”

_ Ugh! Show-off! _

“You what? How do you know how to do this?”

She shrugged. “One of the older kids showed me once. It's actually pretty easy.”

Butch gritted his teeth. Why did she have to be so much better than him — than _ everyone _ — at everything?

“Anyway, _ bon appétit._”

“Wait!” he said, grabbing her arm as she was getting up to leave.

She sat back down, frowning, and watched him break the carton open with his switchblade. He gave her seven of the plastic-wrapped little cakes, one for each day he'd missed. Lorna stared at the small pile that was now sitting on her lap. She was biting on her lower lip as if she were conflicted about something.

“What?” he practically hissed.

“Butch, I… You don't have to if—”

“Just take the damn cakes, nosebleed!”

A week ago, she was almost begging for a month worth of cakes and now, all of a sudden, she didn't want them anymore? What the hell kind of nonsense was this?

“We've got enough of these back home. I don't need them as much as you do.”

Butch's eyes grew wide, his nostrils flaring. Was she pitying him? How dared she pity _ him_?!

“Leave before you get hurt,” he threatened her.

She swallowed hard and he waited for her to counter him with a snarky reply as she usually did, but it never came. She took the cakes between her hands and left without a word.

Butch watched her walk back to her father with a certain unease. Something twisted in his guts, made him feel bad about the way he'd snapped at her. And he wondered _ why. _ Why did he feel that way for a girl he never even liked?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **tw:** mild violence.

**May 2273**

Puberty had hit them like a hammer to the face. Or rather, it had hit Butch and it had hit him in all the right places. Lorna, decidedly less so. She was still a scrawny girl with arms the size of wet spaghetti. But Butch? Oh, he'd grown, alright! He was now an entire foot taller than her and she was certain he was keeping himself in decent shape by hitting the gym. Not excessively so, but enough that she might actually get hurt if she poked him too much.

Because of her smaller size, she'd had to learn how to _talk_ her way out of unpleasant situations. While it had been easy enough with most people due to the fact that she'd always been a cunning child, some knew her too well to be fooled. Like her dad. Or Mr. Brotch. Or the Overseer… 

Butch, on the other hand, wasn't exactly the brightest light in the Vault. Outwitting him was easy and almost as satisfying as driving her small fist into his pretty, punchable face.

And yet… 

This newfound skill of hers didn't stop her from trying to provoke him at every turn. If anything, she had only found more ammunition with which to mess with him. She was testing the water, trying to discern how far she could go before getting burned.

They had ended up in her father's clinic once or twice, both of them a little worse for wear: a small bruise here and there, a bleeding nose, a broken tooth… Nothing too bad, but enough to cause some people to worry. Lorna wasn't one of them, and she was willing to bet that Butch couldn't care any less as well. 

She wasn't sure why the two of them were so drawn to each other, but she was aware that these confrontations were happening more and more often these days. They'd run into each other on their way to class or to the cafeteria — or _anywhere_, really — and one of them would inevitably start a fight.

Today was no exception.

"Hey, nice jacket, you jackass! Did you stitch it yourself like some old lady?"

"What did you say to me, you little twerp?"

In her defense, Butch had been trying to get a rise out of both her and Amata all day long, going so far as to tag "Amata the fatass" on one of the cafeteria's walls, which had driven her friend to the verge of tears. It had taken Lorna over an hour to make her feel better.

They knew he was doing all of this on purpose just to goad them, but his childish games never failed to work. But even though Amata was as annoyed as Lorna, she was also a saint who would never so much as raise a finger against one of her fellow vault dwellers. Lorna, on the other hand, was prone to lose her temper fairly quickly when dealing with Butch (especially when he was hurting her friend). So she had reacted accordingly, and he wasn't liking it one bit. Yes, he _had_ carefully sewn his "gang's” emblem on the back of each jacket himself, but apparently, he drew the line at being called an old lady.

"Lor, don't," Amata pleaded, placing a hand over her friend's arm to stop her from doing something stupid.

Butch snorted. "What, is she your little girlfriend or something?"

But 'stupid' may as well have been Lorna's middle name. She dropped all pretense of diplomacy the second these words came out of his mouth. She got up in his face, spewing more insults at him like one did vomit, half-hoping it might escalate the situation into an actual fistfight. Because no, Amata was not her girlfriend, no matter how much Lorna wished she were. And perhaps that was what drove her to be so reckless: not Butch's callousness, but Amata's rejection. 

_No_, she told herself, _it's not Amata's fault_. Amata was sweet and kind and perfect in all ways. It wasn't her fault if Lorna had a dumb crush on her. And she was definitely not to blame for her friend's questionable behavior.

Not that it really mattered, in the end, because Butch grabbed Lorna by the collar of her jumpsuit and slammed her against the wall. He shoved his left arm against her throat and kept her pinned with the weight of his body. His face was close enough to hers that she could feel his warm breath prickle her skin. The smell of the greasy pomade he was using to style his hair back made her wince slightly but she kept her eyes set on him, mirroring his own burning glare.

She could hear Amata's yells behind him, begging him — no, begging them both — to stop, something neither wanted to do because stopping would mean admitting defeat.

"What are you gonna do now, kiss me?" Lorna rasped, grinning like an idiot.

This threw him off for a few seconds. Eyes wide, he looked as though he was actually considering the offer when a strong hand pulled him off her.

"That's enough, young man!" Officer Gomez's voice interrupted their little stand-off.

Released from Butch's hold, Lorna took a deep breath, massaging her throat.

"We were just talking, officer," Butch protested, feigning innocence so badly Lorna had to fight the urge to laugh.

A frown creased the older man's forehead. "You two never just 'talk'," he said. "Never without a lot of hostility anyway."

"Fine," he admitted begrudgingly. "But she started it."

The security officer rolled his eyes. "Yes, I'm sure she did."

"You didn't hear what she said!"

"Go home, Butch. Before I have to take you myself and explain to your mother why you'll be mopping the cafeteria's floor."

Butch looked down, muttering angry, unintelligible curses at the floor. Lorna wondered, looking at his clenched fists, if he wasn't going to start a fight anyway.

"Whatever."

He stopped next to Lorna as he started walking towards the residential area, and lowered his mouth to her ear. "This ain't over, smart mouth."

"Looking forward to it," she replied smugly.

He looked her down with a glint in his eyes that left no doubt as to how little he liked her. She held his gaze, unwilling to back down and let him think he was intimidating her.

Gomez cleared his throat, inciting Butch to keep moving.

"I'll see you around, nosebleed."

With a last chuckle, Butch disappeared behind a corner. The security officer made sure one last time that the two girls were fine before following him through the corridor.

"Oh my god! What an asshole!" Amata grumbled. "Are you sure you're alright, Lorna?"

"I could have taken him down, you know."

Her friend grimaced. "When we were ten, maybe."

Lorna gasped, placing a hand over her heart in fake outrage. "I'm hurt that you think I couldn't win this fight."

"You'll get a lot more hurt if he remembers that he has a switchblade in his pocket he could use for something more than carving little snakes on every piece of furniture in the Vault."

"Please." She snorted. "He and his 'Turtle Cakes' are all hisses and no bite."

"Lorna, you're my best friend, and I love you. But you can't resort to violence every time Butch so much as inconveniences you."

_Inconveniences?!_ Butch was more than a mere inconvenience. He was a pest, a radroach infestation all by himself. And his little gang wasn't much better. Wally was as much of an asshole as Butch if not more, and he was also a lot dumber (as surprising as that may have sounded). Paul was nicer, but he was too much of a coward to step up against his friends. Then there was Freddie. Lorna had heard rumors that he wanted to join the Tunnel Snakes. The poor boy craved the validation of his peers — which meant Butch and his cronies. He followed them everywhere like a lost puppy, waiting for them to order him around. Lorna felt almost sorry for him. _Almost_.

The Tunnel Snakes were a bunch of thugs. They ran around the Vault causing so much havoc the maintenance department had complained to security dozens of times. Their answer? "Let boys be boys."

Some of them — Officer Gomez for the most part — intervened _sometimes_ when there was a fight that needed to be stopped. But all the vandalism, all the threats, and destruction more than often remained unpunished. Lorna didn't understand why nobody was doing anything about the so-called gang, or why the almighty Overseer hadn't intervened yet. Surely he had to know about them by now. But maybe he didn't even care as long as he thought they weren't hurting his precious daughter. If only Amata wasn't so stubborn about keeping this from him…

"We can't just let them bully us, Amata."

"That's the thing, Lor." She looked away hesitantly. "There's a fine line between self-defense and becoming a bully yourself and I think you're starting to cross it."

"Oh, come on!"

She had always told herself she was doing all this either in self-defense or to protect Amata. But to be perfectly honest with herself, Lorna wasn't so sure anymore whether she was antagonizing Butch for her friend's sake or for her own amusement. Let's face it, when he wasn't the one grating on her nerves, she was the one escalating things into a fistfight.

"I don't know, Amata… The more we tried to be friendly toward him in the past, the harder he started hating us, you know that."

"I'm not asking you to be his friend — God knows we can't be friends with these guys. I'm asking you to be smarter than him. I know you are."

She sighed. "Fine. I promise I'll stop trying to pick up a fight with him. But if he so much as lifts a finger on either one of us, he's getting what's coming to him."

She didn't relish the idea, but from now on she would make an effort to avoid tangling with him. If only because Amata was the one asking her to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year everyone! (I hope it isn't considered too late for that lmao)
> 
> Sorry it took a little while to finish writing this chapter. I had to start over five times because I wasn't entirely satisfied with the direction it was taking. I'm still a little worried it might not come across the way I want it to, so don't hesitate to tell me what you think of it :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **warning for abuse**  
and amateur emergency procedures. don't try it at home, kids.

**December 2273**

The phosphorescent lights of the Vault were never turned off in the hallways. Never completely, anyway. They were dimmed down as a way to signal to the residents that it was night time and their curfew was in order, but the faint glow remained a constant fixture. They were there for the security team's benefit. A few officers patrolled the Vault at night, keeping watch on potential criminal activities and signs of impeding radroach infestations. As far as Butch knew, they'd never caught anyone red-handed, except perhaps the odd couple engaging in a torrid affair. Floyd Lewis getting down and dirty with Mrs. Gomez had been the most exciting gossip in Vault 101 over the past ten years, but it had been the exception rather than the rule. With so many cameras installed everywhere, sneaking around undetected was pretty much impossible.

Butch had found a way, though. Wally's brother had downloaded a map of every security camera into his Pip-Boy. Stevie might have joined the security force, but he was still a crook to the core. Creeping around the Vault could be incredibly easy when you knew all the blind spots. You still had to worry about the patrolmen, of course, but there were so few of them that they wouldn't be a real problem. Hell, Officer Taylor was so old and decrepit that Butch had caught him sleeping on the job more than once, to the point where he'd been able to doodle crude drawings all over the man's face.

But tonight was different. He hadn't set out to indulge in his usual feats of vandalism. In fact, he wasn't even carrying his markers. No, tonight he was after something bigger.

He casually made his way to the restrooms. The Vault might have been under constant surveillance, but the Overseer hadn't gone so far as to install cameras in the bathrooms. From there, he would only have to cross the hallway in order to reach his destination.

It was common knowledge that the doc worked until late at night. On what, no one had a clue save perhaps the Overseer who knew everything. Not that Butch really cared. The only thing that mattered was that the physician wouldn't be in his apartment, which gave the Tunnel Snake ample opportunity to break in and take whatever he needed. 

Lorna might pose a problem, though. She was still in there, after all, sleeping like a baby. But he was certain he would have enough time to get in and out undetected. And, in the event that she might wake up, he was fast enough to slip out before she could make it to the living room. Probably. Maybe.

That being said, his plan was mostly relying on the assumption that Waterfield kept some medical supplies in his home, and that they would be easy to find. But breaking into the infirmary was too great a risk even if he were to wait until the doc had returned home. The area had greater security and the doors were nearly impregnable. This was an easier solution.

Butch waited until the camera placed at the corridors' intersection rotated to face the opposite direction. He would only have a couple of minutes to pick the lock, but he'd practiced on his own bedroom door lately and was confident in his skills. 

Pressing his ear to the door, he slid the lockpick into the hole.  _ Come on, come on, come on. A little to the left… Bingo! _

The heavy metal panel swished open only for him to come face to face with the barrel of a gun. 

“What the fuck?” he yelped, raising his hands in a futile gesture of surrender.

He took a step back, his eyes darting to the girl holding the riffle. She was wearing the regular Vault-Tec issued, form-fitting nightwear and, in spite of the BB gun pointed at his face, Butch couldn't help but notice that Lorna wasn't as shapeless as her jumpsuit usually made her out to be. 

Her eyes widened in recognition. “You've got ten seconds to leave.”

“It's not what it looks like!”

“You were trying to break into my place, Butch. It can't get any more straightforward.” Her grip tightened around the trigger. “I won't repeat myself. Leave before Officer Kendall makes his round and finds you here.”

“You won't risk him finding you with what looks like a contraband weapon. Where'd you get it anyway?”

The gun shook slightly as she flinched. Her gaze then landed on his raised hands and the crimson-stained napkin he'd wrapped around his right palm. The sight of it finally got her to lower her weapon and discard it on a nearby table.

“You're bleeding.”

He lowered his arms slowly, afraid that she might pick the gun back up again if he made any sudden movement. “No shit, Captain Obvious. Got any stimpacks?”

“What happened?”

“None of your damn business, pipsqueak.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. One of these defiant glares she always seemed to be saving for him. “It is when you've been telling my dad all about how I've been roughing you up even though you and I have barely even spoken in months.”

“Yeah, what about that? Have you been avoiding me, nosebleed? Are you afraid of the Butchman?”

_ Good riddance, _ he'd told himself the first time he'd noticed that she was steering clear of him. But the notion that she might have decided to completely stop indulging in their rivalry had started to feel mildly upsetting for some strange reason as of late.

She huffed derisively. “Hardly.”

She walked past him, heading for the bathroom and effectively putting an end to this conversation. Butch watched her, a frown on his face, as she washed her hands with soap. 

“Dad doesn't keep any chems in the apartment. But we have a small medkit with some supplies, just in case.” 

Well, that was a bummer. Butch had hoped to snatch a few chems on the way. He could have made some money off a few of those. Mentats were popular amongst the teenage crowd and that Wilkins kid was rumored to be hooked on Buffouts.

“What, daddy doesn't trust you with the good stuff?” he taunted her.

A shadow passed over her face. “Did you clean your wound?” she asked, deliberately ignoring his previous comment. 

“I rinsed it, if that's what you mean.”

“Let me take a look.”

Butch extended her hand toward her almost reluctantly. She unwrapped his makeshift bandage with a lot of delicateness, her soft fingers brushing against his. "I cut myself with glass," he explained, purposefully omitting to tell her  _ how _ he'd come into contact with the sharp piece of glass. The last thing he needed from her was pity.

She examined the cut carefully. “You're going to need stitches,” she stated with an even tone, turning her back to him to go back to the apartment.

The Waterfield's living room looked much like his family's apartment. Same metallic panels; same old, yellowing wallpaper; same Vault-Tec issued furniture. The painting on the wall was different — still just as generic though — and it lacked the distinct stench of trash that came in the wake of his mother's drinking sprees. But other than that, it was the same boring apartment.

“So…” he ventured. “Can you do it?”

Her eyes went wide. “Me?”

Unlike her father, Lorna wasn't a trained physician. She was a teenage girl with no medical experience. Heck, Butch's own sewing skills were likely better than hers. But the alternative was either going to her dad or let the wound fester, and there was a reason he was trying to avoid the man. After all, the doc had made it clear he would bring the matter to the security officers' attention if Butch ever showed up to the clinic again. And as bad as his mom was, he couldn't bear the thought of her getting into trouble because of him.

“Come on, I'm sure you've seen your dad do it more than once. Hell, he's even done it on you as I recall.”

He brushed a few strands of hair away from her forehead to point at the scar running across her left highbrow. Butch chuckled in spite of himself, remembering how she'd hit her head on the corner of a table while playing "Grognak the Barbarian” in the cafeteria with Jim Wilkins when they were kids. It had only been half his fault for not bothering to place a "wet floor” sign after he'd been assigned to cleaning duty for tagging his gang's catchphrase on every wall.

She swatted his hand away. “That wasn't funny.” 

“Don't you want to be a doctor, anyway? This could be good practice.”

“Butch, I don't think you realize how bad this could get if I screw up.”

“If you do this for me, then I'll owe you a favor.” The way she hoarded those like the devil, she  _ had _ to say yes.

“Fine,” she relented after thinking it through, “but it doesn't make us buddies or anything.”

“I wouldn't dream of it.”

She pulled a medkit out of a nearby cabinet, as well as a clean towel. She spread it over the table and lined up the supplies she was going to need.

“Now, give me your hand before I change my mind.”

After pulling a pair of plastic gloves from the box, Lorna very carefully soaked a piece of cloth with disinfectant and dabbed it over his hand to clean the wound. Butch winced at the sting, but held still, unwilling to give her the satisfaction of being in pain in front of her.

“Do you think I'm going to have a cool scar too?”

She raised a brow. “It's on the palm of your hand, dumbass. Nobody's going to see it,” she told him, failing to hide a smile. “But since I'm not a professional, the chances you'll either get a scar or a terrible infection are high.” Butch gulped. “Still wouldn't prefer going to the clinic?”

“No.” He had no choice but to trust her on this, no matter how much she insisted it was a bad idea.

She grabbed a curved, sterilized needle and attached a piece of suture thread to it. Holding his hand down firmly, she paused, the needle less than an inch from his flesh.

“It's going to hurt,” she warned him. “A lot.”

He snorted. “Please, who do you think you're talking to? The Butchman can take anything!”

It hurt like hell. It burned like a thousand papercuts. All of a sudden, he regretted not going to the clinic. A stimpack would have gone a long way to alleviate the pain. He gritted his teeth. At the very least, Lorna's hands remained surprisingly steady as she tied the first knot.

He fixed his eyes on her face, figuring that he might be able to ignore the pain if he focused on anything but his wound. Her little nose was scrunched up in concentration. She was biting on her lower lip as she passed the needle through his flesh again, careful in her gestures. She might not have been a real doctor yet, but she sure as hell already looked the part.

“Hey, wasn't it your birthday today?” she noted, likely in an attempt to break the awkward silence that had settled between them.

His body tensed more than he ever thought humanly possible. “It's two in the morning so no, not anymore.”

“So, did you have a party or something? Is that how it happened? You partied too hard and hurt yourself?” she continued, ignoring his obvious discomfort. “Not that I care or anything.”

“Why? Are you hurt a loser like you wasn't invited?”

She snorted. “Don't flatter yourself. I just think it would be weird that a self-centered asshole like yourself wouldn't want to celebrate his birthday.”

She did have a point, but he wasn't about to admit it. He usually just spent his birthday with the rest of the Tunnel Snakes, indulging in perhaps slightly more mischief than usual. His mother had never been keen on celebrating his existence and when he had reminded her of the date, she'd started throwing empty bottles of booze at him.

“I don't celebrate my birthday and I don't owe you any explanation,” he snarled.

“Chill, I was just trying to make conversation. Why are you always such a jerk?”

“Because you're a bitch and I don't like you.”

“Well, the feeling's mutual.”

They glared at each other like a pair of angry dogs fighting over a bone — or what he imagined a pair of angry dogs might look like. It occurred to him then, as she started wrapping a clean bandage around his hand, that antagonizing her while she was tending to his injury might be a bad idea.

“Besides,” he went on anyway, “you don't celebrate yours any more than I do as far as I can tell.” That comment earned him another dark look.

Now that he thought about it, he wasn't aware of any party being thrown in her honor lately, not since the sweetroll incident five years ago. It might not mean anything, but the circumstances fit together too perfectly to be a coincidence.

“Is it because you're afraid I might crash your party again?”

“It might come as a shock to you, but the world doesn't revolve around Butch DeLoria.”

“Why, then?” he asked with genuine curiosity.

Her dad wasn't like his mom. He was a caring, loving father who showered his daughter with affection, everybody knew that. So what was her excuse?

She shrugged. “Why do you even care if you think I'm such a loser? Why are you so butthurt about this?”

“I don't! I'm not!” he babbled in protest.

“There, we're done.” He stared at her, confused for a moment, before realizing she'd finished patching him up.

She placed the medkit back into the cabinet, slamming the door shut behind her.

“We'll have to see each other again to make sure everything's going well,” she said, still sounding utterly annoyed with him. “And we'll have to pull those stitches out eventually.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever.”

“Try not to get them open. I don't want to have to deal with you more than I have to.”

“Lorna, I—” The familiar swishing sound of a door interrupted him in his thoughts.

“Sweetie, I told you a thousand times not to stay up so late,” Doctor Waterfield's voice echoed through the room.

Walking in, he came face to face with Butch. The doc's eyes widened at the sight of him, his nostrils flared, his lips tightened into a thin line. All the colors drained from Butch's face as he stood there in front of this man who was more than likely going to make his life miserable for catching him in his home at night.

“Butch,” the physician hissed. “Care to explain what you're doing here?”

“I…”

“Hey dad,” Lorna intervened before Butch could make a bigger mess of things. “He was just leaving.” 

“That didn't answer my question.” His eyes never strayed from the intruding teenage boy.

“I was just helping him with— something— homework!”

“In the middle of the night?” The anger radiating from Doctor Waterfield was almost palpable.

Lorna gave him a grimace of disgust. “Have a little faith, dad. If I were to have a secret boyfriend, it certainly wouldn't be  _ Butch _ .” She spat his name like an insult.

“Yeah, I'm way out of her league,” he defended his honor.

“I suggest you leave now, Butch,” Waterfield dictated, now staring pointedly at Lorna. “I need to have a little conversation with my daughter.”

“Got it. Thanks, nosebleed. See you around.” He punctuated his reply with a teasing wink and a wave of his bandaged hand.

Lorna rolled her eyes just as the door shut behind him, the clicking sound of the lock echoing in the empty hallway. He leaned against the wall for a moment and examined his hand before heading home. For someone who wasn't a trained physician, he reckoned Lorna had done a pretty good job. 

“Butch! What are you doing out at night again?”

_ Shit! _

“Gee, Officer Kendall! Can't a guy use the bathroom in peace anymore?”

“Go home!” the man ordered him. “And I swear if I find a single graffiti anywhere, you will be cleaning those bathrooms until the Bicentennial!”

“Alright, alright, I'm going.”

It wasn't a long walk, and he didn't need to bother hiding anymore, but Butch still decided to hurry home. With any luck, he could still get a few hours of sleep before his mom roused from her drunken slumber.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The kids take the G.O.A.T but Lorna and Butch aren't so pleased with the results.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning for underage drinking and mild dubcon elements** (it's probably not as bad as it looks, but I'm not really sure how to properly warn for this).  
Some canon-divergence as well.

**August 2274**

The Generalized Occupational Aptitude Test, better known to Vault 101's residents as “the G.O.A.T,” was just a glorified personality test created to give young Vault Dwellers an illusion of control over their lives. However, it was rigged, and everybody knew it. One only had to compare the Mack children's results with everyone else's. Their father was sucking up tothe Overseer, and fuck if it wasn't unfair that Susie, who was as pleasant as menstrual cramps, had managed to grab a teaching position while Lorna had gotten stuck with one of the most useless jobs in the entire Vault. 

“Can I, maybe, take the test again?” It was rigged, yes, but she'd be damned if she was going to give up without a fight. “I don't think I took it seriously enough.”

“I can't show any favoritism, Lorna. Not on this,” Mr. Brotch explained to her. “I'm sorry.”

“Please, Mr. B. My answers didn't reflect me at all, you know this.”

“Actually, I think they reflected your personality pretty well.” He sighed. “You're a smart girl, you've got amazing grades. I like you Lorna, but you're also incredibly immature sometimes.”

“I am not!”

“The only one in this class who surpasses you in that department is Butch.” Lorna gasped, insulted by the suggestion that she was anything remotely like her nemesis. “First question — a _scientific _question that could have gotten you closer to your actual dream job, you answered 'Up yours, buddy!'”

“Oh come on, teach,” Butch — of all people — intervened. “Everyone picked that answer,” he said, only proving their teacher's point that the two of them were just two sides of the same coin.

“No, you were the only ones who did,” Mr. Brotch said, giving each of them a pointed look.

Lorna crossed her arms over her chest and pouted, realizing too late that her current behavior was only lending credence to her teacher's allegations that she indeed lacked maturity.

“Look, I know you wanted to work with your father, but I honestly think this is for the best,” Mr Brotch tried to reassure her. “I'm actually surprised you're not more excited about this. You're always doodling in the margins of your notes. Speaking of doodles, is that—” He pointed at the crude drawing she'd made at the bottom of her test sheet, right next to her answer to the last question, and lowered his voice. “I can't even say it out loud, this is incredibly inappropriate — which only proves my point. You're lucky I'm in a good mood. And you better hope the Overseer never gets his hands on this or you'll be relegated to trash burner faster than you can say 'tattoo artist'.”

Butch didn't even try to hide his amusement. Lorna couldn't tell if he was enjoying her drawing of the Vault-Boy sucking on the Overseer's dick or if he was making fun of her situation, but she hated his laughter regardless.

“Now let's see _your_ results, Butch,” Mr. Brotch went on. “I've been waiting for this day for a long, long time.”

Lorna sniggered. “Oh, this oughta be good. If someone's going to become a garbage burner, odds are it's gonna be you, just like your fa—”

Butch shut her up with a murderous glare. “Finish that sentence and you're gonna be spending a lot of time with your daddy doctor. Like you wanted, right?”

She rolled her eyes. “Haven't we been over this already? You don't scare me, jackass?”

“Cut it out, you two!” their teacher stepped in. “I swear to God, you kids are going to drive me crazy. Now let's see… Hmm…”

“Is that a good 'hmm' or a bad 'hmm'?” Butch asked, suddenly very apprehensive.

“You've surprised me, Butch. I didn't think you had it in you.” For a split second, Butch's face lit up with hope. “Hairdresser! Who would have thunk it?”

Lorna let out a bellow of laughter. She laughed so hard, in fact, that her sides started to hurt and, had she lacked any sense of dignity, she might even have thrown herself to the floor like a cartoon character and rolled around uncontrollably.

Butch, on the other hand, was less than thrilled. “What?! You're so full of it! That isn't true!”

Even Mr. Brotch couldn't prevent a small chuckle from breaking free. “I'm afraid so, Butch.”

Furious, Butch stormed out of the classroom, shoving everyone out of his way as he walked past them. Lorna kept laughing, with tears running down her face, and soon followed after him. Her laughter echoed through the halls until she reached her family's apartment, where it progressively dissolved into a heavy silence. That Butch had ended up with a job he didn't want was incredibly satisfying, yes, but it wouldn't change the fact that she was going to be even worse off than him. At least he'd been assigned to a useful position, no matter how much he wanted to complain about it. People would always be queueing up for a nice haircut, but a tattoo? Few in the Vault would be willing to etch a permanent drawing onto their skin, let alone trust her to do it.

She let out a deep sigh, slumping down on the closest chair. Her dad was still stuck in the clinic, busy being one of the most useful people in the Vault, something he would continue to be for a few more hours. That gave her enough time to figure out a way to break the news to him.

“Hey, good news, dad! I'm not going to be burning trash like you feared!”

Her eyes drifted towards an old photograph sitting on the coffee table. It was a picture of her parents standing in some sort of lab, both smiling at the camera. Her father had a protective arm wrapped around her mother's waist, where a small baby bump was peeking from under her lab coat. Lorna found herself wondering what she would have said had she lived long enough to witness her daughter's failures.

“Sorry I turned out to be such a big disappointment,” Lorna whispered to the picture.

Wiping her tears away, she rose from her seat and picked up her old BB gun. She went straight to the reactor room where her father had set up a small shooting range for her tenth birthday. She had not fired the damn thing in years, too busy struggling with the onslaught of puberty, but she needed an outlet for the overwhelming mess of emotions she was feeling after that botched test.

Much to her horror, however, she found the secluded spot already occupied, and not by the most pleasant person in the Vault. She greeted her teeth. Dealing with some stupid jerk was the last thing she needed right now.

“Butch.”

His eyes bounced from the gun to her face, wide with unease.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” she asked him, not even trying to conceal her exasperation.

“What are _you_ doing here?”

“I asked you first.”

“I was here first.”

They stared at each other in awkward silence for a full minute. Then, seeing as he wasn't going to make the first move, Lorna said to him: “I felt like breaking something.”

“So you followed me?!” he squeaked and it occurred to her that he believed she might try to shoot him. An idea she would have found very tempting in the past, but she was too tired and miserable to even think about it anymore. She'd lost the drive to fight him somewhere along the way.

“I wasn't following you, you idiot,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “If I'd known you'd be here I would have gone to the sports field to hit some balls instead.”

Butch took a swig from a bottle of vodka he'd brought with him, his own eyes never straying from her. He'd likely come down here to drown his sorrow away from any prying eyes. Not unlike herself, all things considered.

“So, are you going to just stand there or…?” He motioned for her to leave.

“Did you steal that from your mother's liquor cabinet? Or did you finally learn how to get into the food storage on your own?” Lorna regretted her jab as soon as it escaped from her mouth, but it seemed she could never resist the urge to tease him a little. 

Butch gave her a dark look, his grip tightening around the bottle as if he were holding a weapon. For a moment, she was convinced that he might strike her with it, but he seemed to reconsider it after his eyes landed once more on the gun she was wielding. While non-lethal to someone his size, the BBs were sure to hurt like hell if aimed at the right spot.

“You want some?” he asked her instead, dangling the bottle in front of her.

Lorna had never been much of a drinker, she'd never had anything stronger than a glass of wine while dining with her dad. But to hell with it, she needed a distraction. Discarding her weapon, she grabbed the bottle and sat down on the crate next to Butch. She brought it to her lips and let the liquid run down her throat, burning her from the inside. Coughing, she handed the bottle back to Butch, who downed a few gulps without so much as a wince. 

They passed the bottle between the two of them, drinking together in comfortable silence for a while. It was a strong liquor and it didn't take long for Lorna to start feeling a little tipsy. 

It was strange, being so close to Butch without either of them actively trying to hurt the other. Even when she'd been helping him with his injury, they'd continued throwing insults at each other. This back and forth had become a habit between them, but she could get used to this peaceful atmosphere, Lorna thought as she looked into his eyes. She'd never noticed just how blue they were before, maybe because her anger had clouded her senses back then. She'd accumulated a lot of it over the years, but the more they drank, the less she wanted to punch him in the face.

“Damn G.O.A.T. is full of shit,” Butch said eventually to break the silence.

“Finally we agree on something.” She lifted the bottle in a toast.

“For what it's worth,” he said, staring down at his hand, the one she'd stitched up a few months ago. “I think you'd have made a fine doctor.”

His compliment took her by surprise. Was it the alcohol doing the talking, or were those genuine words of respect coming from him?

Out of curiosity — and probably because she was feeling a little lightheaded too — Lorna brushed a finger over his hand, feeling the light scar that ran across his palm. It had already started fading and was barely visible anymore. Not bad for an amateur medic. 

She could still recall the look on her dad's face when he'd realized what she'd done: a mix of shock, horror and pride. He'd found the remains of the equipment she'd used in their trash can shortly after the incident. Between this and Butch's suspiciously cleanly bandaged hand, he'd quickly put two and two together and had confronted her about it. At the time, Lorna had almost wished he'd still believed she was having a secret love affair with Butch. Unnerving as it was, it would have been less likely to land her in deep trouble. But her dad hadn't punished her as she'd expected. He'd merely asked her never to do anything of the sort again without formal training or supervision and had proceeded to teach her how to pull the stitches out safely when the time came. 

Lorna had asked her father why Butch would rather go to her — his worst enemy — than seak the help of a professional. He'd gone quiet for a moment before saying, “Maybe he doesn't hate you as much as you hate him.”

That was bullshit and they both knew it. Even if Butch didn't feel like punching her anymore, he was too full of himself to so much as admit it, let alone stop being an ass altogether. Yet, she had to admit that she had noticed a small change in his behavior after his late-night visit. While "friendly” wasn't the word she would use to describe him, he hadn't tried to provoke her as much as he used to. At least not directly. For the most part, he'd been avoiding her as much as she had him. However, to her utter annoyance, he was still tormenting Amata. Lorna had assumed his intentions towards her to be selfish. He'd only been nicer to her because she had been tending to his injury, nothing more. He was going to resume his bullying sooner or later and she was ready for it.

A sly smile broke out across Butch's face as he looked upon their joined hands. She didn't like the look on his face. It made her feel self-conscious about the situation she had found herself in. Yet, she didn't pull away as anyone with an ounce of common sense would have.

His mouth crashed into hers with little warning, nearly knocking the wind out of her. For a second nothing happened, then, as the initial shock wore off, Lorna's lips started moving of their own accord. Her eyes fluttered shut and she grabbed the collar of his jacket with her free hand to pull him closer to her until she could feel his heart thumping in his chest. It wasn't a kiss like in the movies, slow and sensual. It was a pretty sloppy kiss, in fact, wet, forceful and with the scent of alcohol lingering on their breaths. But it felt… nice… 

Lorna had known she was attracted to guys in the same way she liked girls for a while now. Ever since she'd seen Paul Newman in _The Long, Hot Summer_ during one of the Vault's monthly movie nights a couple of years ago. But she'd never been interested in any of the guys in the Vault. Not like _this_ anyway. She used to have a crush on Freddie Gomez when they were kids, sure, and she had to admit he was still kind of cute, but she'd gotten over it years ago after that one fateful day when she'd noticed how Amata's smile brought sunshine into their dull colorless Vault. But this? The way her body was reacting to his touch, to his warmth, to his taste, as if she couldn't have enough of him… It was something else entirely. It was wrong. It was _Butch_! And she hated Butch. _Right?_

A soft moan escaped from the depth of her throat unwillingly. The sound seemed to spur him on and he pushed her down on the crate, bracing himself with his arms to avoid crushing her under his weight. The tip of his tongue brushed against the small gap between her lips to try to get inside of her mouth, pulling her back to reality as suddenly as if he'd doused her in ice.

She punched him in the face.

“What the fuck?!” he yelled, holding a hand over his bleeding nose as she scrambled to her feet. “What's your problem?!”

“You!” she screamed back at him. “You're my problem! Who gave you the right to just… _Ugh!_”

She wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her jumpsuit, feeling sick with herself. The mere thought of swapping spit with Butch when he'd been harassing Amata — the girl she _actually loved_ — not two hours ago made her stomach churn.

“Oh please, don't act all high and mighty. You were enjoying it.”

“That's not the point! You shouldn't kiss girls without their consent!”

“You kissed me back!”

“I didn't!” she lied.

“You know what, screw you. You're not worth the effort. I don't even like you, you bitch.”

“Fuck you, pig!” she shouted back at him, giving him the finger as he left the room.

She picked up her BB gun and, with renewed frustration, aimed for the bottle he had discarded. The glass shattered as the projectile came into contact with it, spilling what little remained of its content all over the crate. Then she took a few additional shots at the targets hanging in the back of the room. She missed most of them. Hardly surprising when her vision was impaired by the drink, or when her right hand was still hurting after the punch, or when her concentration was distracted by the lingering sensation of the kiss, something that only added to her current annoyance.

At least the G.O.A.T. wasn't on her mind anymore, but at what cost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your incredible patience. I'm so sorry it took me so long to complete this chapter.  
I went through a bit of a tough time at the beginning of the lockdown (didn't get sick, don't worry) and I kinda struggled writing this chapter afterwards (this is actually the 5th version of it). Eventually, I ended up merging a few chapters together because my first drafts were too boring.  
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it and happy Bombs Drop Day to everyone ^^


	9. Chapter 9

It had been a week since they'd all taken the G.O.A.T. and Butch had only had two things on his mind the entire time. First, that his assigned career fucking sucked and someone was going to hear about this. _Hairdresser!_ As if he were some middle-aged broad who spent her days yapping about her neighbors. Mr. Brotch would pay for this. Maybe Butch should introduce him to his toothpick, that ought to teach the teach a lesson. Or maybe he should go to the Overseer himself! If he wasn't too busy, that is.

And then there was that damn kiss.

He'd been drunk out of his mind at the time, but he could have sworn Lorna had kissed him back, no matter how much she wanted to pretend it hadn't happened. But her denial suited him just fine, seeing as he liked her about as much as she liked him — which was _not at all_. It was the booze that had done the kissing, not him. Yeah, that must have been it, the alcohol getting to his brain and making him _feel_ things. For _nosebleed_, of all people! Disgusting. He felt his stomach twist just thinking about it. Although that was the least of his problems right now, he thought as he stared at his bandaged nose in the bathroom mirror. How could someone who barely weighed more than a hundred pounds soaking wet have such a mean hook?

He'd had to go to the doc to patch his beautiful face up, lest he'd wanted to look like a disfigured freak for the rest of his life. And since Lorna had been the cause of his current condition for once, he hadn't even needed to lie about her involvement. Butch suspected she'd admitted to punching him to her father too because the doc hadn't argued when he'd brought it up. Although Butch was willing to bet she hadn't told him the full story, or he'd have been radroach meat by now. A gang leader planting a forceful kiss on his precious daughter? No way such a caring dad would have let something like that slide.

Butch shook his head as if he'd just gotten out of the shower, a vain attempt to shake these memories from his mind. Why couldn't he forget about that stupid kiss like she apparently had? 

The Vault was small, that might have been why, and its inhabitants few enough in numbers that nothing short of staying locked up in his room all day could make him succeed in completely avoiding Lorna (and that would mean having to deal with his mother, which was even worse). 

No, there was no escaping that little twerp. He'd bump into her in the hallway, or see her in the lounge, reading some new issue of _Grognak_ she'd found God only knew where, or giggling in the cafeteria with her “girlfriend” Amata. Maybe that was the real reason she'd pushed him away, he realized. He could tell there was something going on between these two — even he wasn't _that_ dumb. Hell, for all he knew she might not even like boys. That would certainly explain a few things.

Not that he cared about her, but even when he did manage to spend half a day without so much as catching a glimpse of her, Butch's mind would wander back to the softness of her lips like a moth drawn to a light.

He made his way to the recreational area where he often hung out with the rest of the Tunnel Snakes after school. And there she was (_because of course she was_), playing eight-ball with a bunch of guys. Paul was among them, no doubt hoping to score a date with her. It bothered Butch more than it should have. Tunnel Snakes didn’t date losers like Waterfield. They went for dolls with a little more flair and a lot more meat in the upper body. In retrospect, he should have thanked her for punching some sense into him rather than indulging in his drunken passion.

_Ugh!_ He needed a distraction, and he needed it fast.

He scanned the room for something else to take his mind off everything. The pool table was out of the question, of course. The pinball machine was still out of order after Stevie Mack had toppled it down in anger when he'd failed to break the record held by some long-dead and forgotten vault dweller. And unfortunately, there wasn't much else to do in this place when you were a bored teenager. The only thing left for him to do was to go home or slip into the projection room to watch a movie, but leaving would be admitting defeat, and Tunnel Snakes never surrendered — because they ruled!

His gaze fell on Susie, who was gossipping with Christine over some Nukas. It gave him an idea that might not only take his mind off last week's incident, but would also send a message to Lorna about how little he cared about her. Two birds, one stone, as the old saying went.

“Yo, Susie!” he called out from the doorway. “Wanna make out or something?”

Lorna's reaction was not the one he'd hoped for, to say the least. For a split second, Butch wondered if one of the guys she was playing with had whispered a joke into her ear right as he was speaking.

“And they say romance is dead,” she blurted out between two bursts of laughter.

Small chuckles followed her comment, much to Butch's displeasure. They quickly subsided after he shot the lot of them a dirty look. He took a step towards Lorna, ready to retaliate with a taunting remark of his own, when he felt delicate fingers caress his hand.

“Don't listen to her, she's just jealous,” Susie — whom he'd almost forgotten about — declared as she wrapped her hand around his.

“Jealous of who?” someone else added at Lorna's expense. “You or him?”

“Neither,” she retorted. “I have standards.”

_Oh, yeah?_ Then where were those so-called standards when she was making out with him? Where were they when she was rubbing her hands all over him? Hypocrite.

Susie nudged him impatiently, and he peeled his eyes away from Lorna with reluctance as she dragged him to a corner of the room where they wouldn't be disturbed. She smiled up at him with eagerness, waiting for him to make the first move.

Butch froze, staring at her as if searching her face for reassurance that he wasn't making a mistake. Susie had always been a looker — blonde hair, blue eyes, and a smile to light up the entire Vault… the perfect all-American girl. But truth be told, he wasn't quite sure he actually _wanted_ to kiss her. Then again, Lorna was one of the most repulsive people in the Vault, and he'd still kissed her without hesitation. So why did he have so many doubts all of a sudden? 

Growing tired of his lack of resolve, Susie grabbed his face and pulled him towards her to plant a firm kiss on his lips. It felt very different from kissing Lorna. She smelled of perfume, something strong and fruity. He wasn't sure what it was, but he would have bet his week's ration that it had vanished along with the rest of the outside world when the bombs had dropped. She wasn't shy with her tongue, and her breath was fresh and minty. And most of all, she wasn't a five feet tall piece of flat board. In every aspect, it should have been better than kissing that Waterfield twerp. But it wasn't.

For one thing, she was pressing her face against his so hard she was crushing his already painful nose. Then there was that nauseating feeling growing in the pit of his stomach. He must have been coming down with a bug or something. Whatever it was, he was sure he'd caught it from nosebleed.

He searched the room for her from the corner of his eye, trying to see if she was at all bothered by his little show, but she wasn't even looking in their direction. She was aiming her shot, bent over the pool table, her ass pointing right at him. Butch groaned with frustration and doubled down on his affection for Susie, kissing her harder despite the pain it caused him. The quiet little moans she made as she pressed herself closer against him reminded him of the noises Lorna had made when they'd been together. Lorna, who drove him mad just by being in the same room; Lorna, who had been the object of his resentment for so many years; Lorna, who had rejected him like a worthless piece of trash. Lorna, Lorna, _Lorna_…

Butch pulled away slowly. This wasn't working. Not only was Waterfield still plaguing his mind, but he had failed to so much as incite even the smallest of reactions from her. She was too busy picking up the stack of ration coupons she'd just won to so much as spare a glance in his general direction. Somehow, that display of cold indifference felt worse than her initial rejection, and he hated her all the more for it.

“So…” Susie purred. “Now that that’s out of the way—” She ran her hand down his chest, a suggestive smirk growing on her face. “—maybe we could grab lunch later. What do you think?”

“Hmm, yeah, sure…”

She smiled up at him with the unrestrained joyfulness of a kid on Christmas and gave him another quick kiss before strutting back to Christine, who was pretending to care about the game but couldn't look more bored if she tried.

So that was it then, Butch realized. He'd acted on impulse (as he often did) and now he had a girlfriend he'd never actually wanted. He took a deep breath, trying to rationalize the situation. Maybe this wasn't such a bad thing. Susie was hot and always down to party. They might have some fun together, if anything. And, given some time, her face might come to replace that annoying little shithead when he closed his eyes.


End file.
